


For Want of a Home

by dvadio



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: But he's not very good at his job, Canon-Typical Violence, Elements of depersonalization, F/M, Idk I really like these and I wanted to post my take, Jim is a changeling au, Jim's just winging it (and so am I), Misunderstandings, Slowburn changeling redemption(?), The trials and tribulations of balancing 3 lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvadio/pseuds/dvadio
Summary: AU where Jim is a changeling who… isn’t exactly good at his job. It’s not his fault that he happened to get more attached than normal to his family and friends, or that deceit isn’t in his blood. He’s just a young spy in training, under the watchful eye of his handler, waiting for the day he’ll be called upon to aid in the utter destruction of humanity.…Humanity, which Jim has grown to love.So when fate offers him the chance to become somethingbetter…
Relationships: Jim Lake Jr./Claire Nuñez
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't really anything formal just drabble chapters that I've been writing to distract myself from the hell that is life
> 
> Also I've really only seen trollhunters the show so I'm not super versed in the lore, I'll be making my own up as I go along which means that this won't be canon compliant
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

**I**

Jim knows he’s in danger when Strickler calls him into his office after class.

Toby gives him a knowing look and a grin, mouthing something about Jim being a “teacher’s pet”, which probably means he’ll cover for Jim’s absence in Spanish. At worst, Toby probably thinks it’s about a failed assignment. And, well, he wouldn’t be _wrong_.

Although he has no idea what this particular meeting is about. He’s been dutifully fulfilling his role as a human- he’d like to say he’s a good son and a friend. He hasn’t blown his cover or done anything wrong. In the silence as Jim follows Mr. Strickler to his office, he runs through a list of things he could’ve possibly messed up.

Mr. Strickler closes the door behind him.

“Take a seat, young Atlas.” He gestures towards a chair in front of his desk. Jim obliges awkwardly.

“… Can I help you with something? I swear, I’ve been doing everything you told me exactly as followed-“ Jim starts, feeling more panicked in his attempts to pacify his handler. Strickler holds his hand up, and Jim freezes.

“You’re not in trouble.” He says calmly. That doesn’t mean much- his poker face is good enough that Jim can never quite get a full read on him. “I’ve been told to inform you to get ready. Plans are in motion now. Big plans.”

He grins devilishly as he says that, like he’s delivering good news. And yet, all Jim can feel is something sinking from his gut to the soles of his feet. If Mr. Strickler is this happy, then that means they’ve started assembling Killahead Bridge. “Oh!” He says, trying to inject false cheer into his voice as he fiddles with the fabric of Mr. Strickler’s chair.

“That means you’ll be expected to do more work from now on. Transporting pieces, helping assemble the bridge, doing whatever Bular needs you to do.”

Scratch that- his heart falls through his stomach to the earth’s _core_.

“He’s _here_?” Jim asks, probably more fearful than he intended it to come out. He’s heard rumors of the vicious and bloody son of their leader, but never seen the troll in person. Bular often goes off and does whatever suits his fancy, leaving a bloody legacy of missing cases and murders behind him. And if he’s chosen Arcadia as his home base for bringing his father back…

Mr. Strickler, at least, shares the same sentiments in that respect. It’s no secret that changelings work with Gunmar, and his son by extension, out of necessity. They will do whatever it takes to assure the survival of their species, and earn the respect that they deserve after years of servitude. But Bular is bullheaded, and the rumor is that working with him is one of the most dangerous positions for a changeling in the order. What Jim’s implying by fearing Bular’s return could be taken as treason. But Strickler, one of the most levelheaded in the order, at least understands Jim’s reservations.

“As of last night.” Strickler informs him. “A major piece of the bridge was found. We’ve decided to build our base here. Bular wishes to oversee it’s completion.” Which is Strickler reach-around talk for _he doesn’t trust us to build it for him._

“Oh.” Jim says again, softer this time.

He’s not sure why he’s so sad. He’s known this day would come for a long time, but instead of excitement, he only feels hollow. “How long do we have until the bridge is complete?”

“By my estimation… a few months at most.” Mr. Strickler replies, fiddling with his pen. “It depends on whether or not Otto truly has found the eyestone. And then it’s a matter of putting together the pieces that the rest of our agents have found across the world.”

And that’s probably where Jim comes in. Construction and grunt work will fall to him and the goblins. Being the youngest changeling in Arcadia- hell, probably the entire state- means he’s at the bottom of the totem pole.

“I understand.” Jim says solemnly. “Then I’ll be ready whenever you need me.”

“You sound like it’s a funeral.” Strickler observes.

Jim flinches.

“Well, I’ll be complicit in the death of my host family.” He thinks about Barbra’s smiling face, glasses slightly askew on her nose as they often are whenever she’s been too busy bending down to work with patients. Once Gunmar is risen and he brings forth the Eternal Night, then she’ll be food. Gone. Dead. “Unless you’ve thought of a way to take care of my mother…?”

Jim was only thirteen when he hesitantly brought up to Mr. Strickler the possibility of hiding Barbara away once Gunmar is brought back. Mr. Strickler had clicked his pen, given Jim an odd look, and said he would look into it. Maybe it had been wishful thinking on Jim’s part, but he’s held onto that promise ever since.

Only, Mr. Strickler frowns. “I know that you’re soft on her, young Atlas. Most young changelings still fresh from the Darklands often are. But you need to learn to let it go. In this world, you can only be concerned about yourself. I shed that pointless sentimentality centuries ago.”

“Oh.” Jim parrots for the third time in this conversation. He’s beginning to sound like a broken record, but for some reason, his throat feels too tight to form coherent words. Eventually, he manages. “I kind of always hoped that I was a little more like a… student to you, or something.”

“No.” Strickler says bluntly, effectively nipping that conversation in the bud.

Jim purses his lips. It’s nothing he hadn’t known, but to hear it spoken like that also hurts. At the very least, he’d come to see his handler as somewhat of a father figure. And, based on the patience that Strickler had always shown him, Jim had maybe assumed subconsciously that the feeling was reciprocated.

Apparently not.

“I’ll call you when your services are needed.” Strickler says primly. Jim takes that as a dismissal, standing quickly. He pushes the door open, just ready to be _out_ of here, when the flip switches from handler to teacher, and Strickler gives him a pleasant smile. “Oh, and Jim? Say hello to your mother for me.”

That’s like the final knife in the gut. Jim tries not to shut the door too hard on the way out- it would raise suspicions if Strickler’s favorite student suddenly hated him.

Although, in that moment, he could hardly bring himself to care.

After all, if Strickler is right, then it won’t matter for much longer anyways.

**II**

Cooking has somewhat of a relaxing activity for Jim. The act of methodically going through the motions and creating something tangible that can be enjoyed by everyone. Food brings people together. Food helps Mom through a busy workday, and keeps her happy.

The rational excuse is that it’s an excuse to practice knife work. Jim has always been best with blades. The other excuse is that it makes him a likeable person- he flies under the radar that way.

The real answer is that all changelings have secret hobbies that aren’t related to the mission. Nomura has classical music. Strickler has history- though that may be less of a hobby and more like his life story. The guy’s a _fossil_.

The thought of Mr. Strickler being there at the major events he’s always lecturing about, all prim and proper in those stuffy suits is too amusing.

Nevertheless, despite how cooking could be seen as a frivolous, extraneous activity by his handlers, Jim makes it a habit to make three meals a day for Mom. (And he wonders when, internally, he stopped thinking of his host mother as _Mom_ and not just _Barbara_.) Right now, he’s making dinner before she has to head out for her night shift. It’s one of the few moments their schedules overlap.

His hands still as he’s cutting up a jalapeno pepper, resting on the cutting board.

_This might be one of the last nights we get to spend together like this, if my own nightly activities are going to be picking up soon._

_That_ particular thought sours the mood considerably. Jim picks up the knife again and continues his work- he’s in the middle of putting together spicy enchiladas. He’s been on a Spanish kick recently that Toby teases him endlessly about. Ever since he found out about Jim’s “crush” on Claire Nunez.

It was a convenient cover up- and, well, normal boys get normal crushes on normal girls, right?

Besides, Hispanic food is a good way to experiment with spices and flavor. Jim tosses the chicken in the pan with the vegetables, checking the brown rice in the cooker. He carefully plates the two meals and sets them on the table. “Dinner’s ready!” He shouts up the stairs, waiting for Mom’s affirmative yell. She’s already dressed for her next shift when she sits down, still waking up from her afternoon nap.

“Oh, wow. This looks delicious!” She marvels, readjusting her glasses. Jim sets a to-go cup of coffee in front of her as she gives him a knowing smirk. “This wouldn’t happen to be about that Claire girl again, would it?”

“Oh my god, you and Toby really need to stop gossiping about my love life.” Jim groans.

They sit. They eat.

Sometimes, Mom regales Jim with stories from the hospital while they eat meals together. He’s pretty sure that medical tales aren’t the best table talk, but he’s never been bothered by it. They’ve never been a conventional family by any means. Today, Mom recounts the story of how she had to perform surgery on someone who swallowed a _rubber duck_ , of all things.

“How did they even get it into their mouth?” He laughs between bites, trying to picture it. Something like that would be possible for a troll, but a human child?

“I don’t know!” Mom exclaims. “But the hardest part was trying to keep my hands steady while I could hear it squeaking!”

Jim has to set his water cup down so he doesn’t choke on it doing a spit take. He wipes at the corner of his mouth with the sleeve of his track jacket. “That’s insane. I don’t think I’d be able to do it!”

“Well. That’s why I’m the one with the medical degree, kiddo.”

Jim smiles warmly at her. “Yeah.”

This is one of the best dinners they’ve had in a long time. Jim sighs, awash in the glow of the good feeling this evening has left him in after… earlier this morning. Spending time with Mom always seems to make his stress ebb away. Another foolish sentiment that he’s supposed to grow out of in a few years.

(Changelings are independent creatures.)

(The worst part is that Jim doesn’t know if he _wants_ to be. It seems like a terribly lonely life.)

“Mom?” He says suddenly. They’ve both polished off their plates, sitting in comfortable silence. She perks up when he speaks.

“Yes, dear?”

“I love you.”

Mom chuckles. She leans over the table and pinches his cheek. “I love you too.”

She’s the strongest woman Jim thinks he’s ever met. She picked herself up after the senior James Lake walked out on them and refused to crumble- a stay at home mom with a young child and no way to take care of them. She went back and finished her degree and even went to med school. All while taking care of Jim the best she could.

Maybe because it’s only been the two of them that Jim still holds so much love and respect for her. He’s almost ashamed to admit that it’s more love than he should have for his host mother, much more than act he puts on in the day. And, amongst it all, he can’t help but feel bad that she was robbed of the chance to raise her _real_ son.

He’s nothing but an impostor wearing human’s skin.

“But Jim, what’s this about?” She asks, a slight edge to her voice. “Are you hurt? Or are you trying to angle for something? Because this seems like a sales pitch.”

“Nothing! Can’t a son just make a delicious meal for his mother?” He asks, pretending to be offended. Jim’s always prided himself on not wanting for anything. Whatever it takes to make things easier on Barbara. “I just want to make sure you don’t get too hungry during your shift.”

He picks up her plate and stacks it on top of his.

“Well, I appreciate it.” She says, standing. Jim smiles at her and tries not to act like he’s seeing her for the last time. These stupid emotions just keep getting in the way today.

His eyes must look especially misty, because Mom gives him a concerned look. Her hand lingers on his hair for a minute longer than usual. She looks like she wants to say something, to reach out, but she’s not quite sure how. Jim’s a teenager, after all- albeit, not quite a normal one- and she’s probably not sure where to start.

Instead, she straightens her shoulders, leaving all those concerns left unsaid between them. “How about I wash these dishes before I leave? I can at least do that much.”

**III**

“Your food is always heavenly. I can’t wait to dig into this.” Toby’s practically salivating as he peeks in the paper bag Jim gave him for lunch. As Jim mounts his bike, Toby snaps it shut, gasping like he’s offended. “Jim, you know I’m on a diet!”

“You’ve been on a diet for fourteen years.” Jim points out.

“And? I’ll grow into my figure. It’s a work in progress.” Jim has to admire Toby’s optimism in the face of his ever-going weight struggle he’s been facing ever since he was an infant. “We can’t all hit a growth spurt that makes us a _stick_.”

Jim resists the urge to roll his eyes playfully. He shot up over half a foot over the summer, and it looks like Toby isn’t going to let it go anytime soon. “I guess we just have different metabolisms.” He recites, an age-old conversation they’ve had countless times. And they’ll probably have it countless more. Maybe he should start researching healthier dishes for Toby, even loathe as he is to start using ingredients like quinoa.

“Oh, shit, we’re gonna be late!” Toby shouts with a start- Jim panics as he realizes that he spent way too much time on meal prep this morning because _classes are about to begin_. He jumps on his bike, watching Toby from his periphery do the same.

“C’mon, let’s take the shortcut! Through the canals?” Jim yells behind his back over the rush of the wind and the sun beating in his face. Toby grunts something that probably means yes- whatever he says, Jim takes it as an affirmative. Even though it’s _technically_ forbidden by the school to take this shortcut, Jim likes it when they do.

That moment that you’re soaring through the air as you’re rolling down the asphalt, your bike wheels completely off the ground- it’s exhilarating. It reminds him of those rare nights he gets when he just goes wild in the forest in his troll form. Wild, without a care in the world.

He barely even notices that Toby’s lagged behind, as he usually does- he’ll catch up, and Jim can only be described as a speed demon on a bike. Toby likes to say it’s because he’s trying to make up for the fact that Mom won’t let him have a vespa yet.

Jim lands on the ground with a thud and rolls the rest of the way down the incline, allowing his legs to hang freely in the air as gravity and momentum carry him the rest of the way down. When he comes to a stop, he turns to get a better look at his friend behind him. _Toby’s still back in the woods, so Jim should wait until he catches up-_

**_JAMES LAKE JR._ **

Jim hisses in pain as he feels a sudden stabbing sensation in the back of his skull. “Hello?” He asks, looking around for whoever called him. Only, he’s alone in the bottom of the canal. It’s only him and that pile of rocks on the ground over there.

**_JAMES LAKE JR._** The disembodied voice says again.

Jim stares at the unmoving pile of rocks and swears that he sees something glint in the sunlight.

Toby finally comes to a stop behind him, panting heavily. “God Jimbo… you’re still way too fast for me… give a guy a moment to breathe, will ya?”

Jim stares at the rocks.

**_JAMES LAKE JR._ **

“Did you hear that?” He asks.

“Hear what?” Toby answers the question with a question, which means that he didn’t hear that. Jim wrinkles his nose.

“I thought I heard someone saying my name.”

Though a disembodied pile of rubble doesn’t seem like it should be able to talk. Jim takes a step forward, entranced. “Um, Jimbo, you good?” Toby asks, but the question falls on deaf ears as Jim bends down, running his hand through the rocks. There’s something familiar about the texture that he can’t quite place.

He picks a piece up. It barely takes much pressure for the rock to dissolve in his hand, crumbling into dust. Jim’s eyes widen as he remembers where he’s felt this before- back when he was young, and he would sometimes be allowed to tag along with the senior Janus order members on missions. _These aren’t just rocks. These are troll remains._

Could Bular have already made his move? Jim would say that it’s too early for him to cause a scene and try to stir up Trollmarket. Then again, Bular isn’t known for his impulse control. But what troll was brave enough- or stupid enough- to head to the surface and face Bular head on?

“Whoa. These are so cool!” Toby marvels, completely oblivious to what he’s really looking at. He bends down to pick up a piece, holding it to the sunlight. “I should take this with me. The guys at the geology club would get a kick out of this- whatever it is.”

Jim decides better than to dissuade Toby from taking a piece. Even though they’re technically looking at a pile of stoneflesh that was once a living, magical being, it could easily be mistaken for just regular mineral.

Even though this is a corpse.

Jim isn’t sure if he wants to throw up or not.

After a few moments, he decides on the _or not_. Jim continues to rifle through it, looking for whatever may have reflected under the sun’s rays. Finally, his hand brushes against something cold and smooth.

Oh. These weren’t just the remains of some troll.

This was the trollhunter.

BULAR _KILLED_ THE TROLLHUNTER.

Jim really has to swallow the urge to throw up now. If he’s killed Trollmarket’s protector, then does that mean he wants to march on their home as quickly as possible? Does this mean they have less time than he thought before their plans are going to be put into motion?

Or were the wheels in these machinations already turning, all while Jim was oblivious?

“Ooh, what’s that?” Toby asks, staring at Merlin’s cursed medallion in Jim’s hand. The light blue stone shimmers under the clockwork machinery, deceptively beautiful for something so powerful. Something that’s killed countless of his kind before. Something that’s been used to oppose Gunmar, Jim’s leader. Something that protects the citizens of Trollmarket, wherever they are.

“I’m not sure.” Jim lies, distracted. He hesitates for a moment, running his thumb over the side of the metal plating. He should just leave this here for the next troll and pretend he didn’t see it at all. This is way above his pay grade. But who knows how long it’ll be before one of them shows up? Not to mention Bular would have his head if he learned that Jim allowed another trollhunter to be chosen.

Jim shoves it deep in the bag, where Merlin’s light won’t shine.

“C’mon, we should get out of here. We’re gonna be late for class.” Jim says, feeling a sudden chill down his spine. He knows that it’s sunny out, and that Bular probably isn’t around here anymore, but he can’t help the weird sense of dread building inside of him. After all this planning and subterfuge, genocide of troll and humankind suddenly seems a lot more real.

“Oh, shoot, you’re right!” Toby hops on his bike, Jim’s strange behavior completely forgotten upon the reminder that he’ll have to face Senior Uhl’s wrath at this rate. “Race you there, Jimbo!”

Toby wins by a slim margin, only because Jim’s too distracted to put up a fight.

**IV**

When Strickler pulls Jim in his office to tell him the news, Jim doesn’t know what possesses him to keep what he saw under the bridge a secret.

“Bular slayed Kanjigar this morning.” It’s the way there’s an edge of excitement in his voice, a vicious grin as his eyes glow yellow with red sclera in the privacy of his office. Jim reciprocates, eyes glowing blue in response as his stomach revolts again.

Now would be the perfect time to bring up the amulet. A find this tremendous can’t go unreported- not when it comes to the construction of the bridge. The amulet is a key piece.

“You look nervous, Jim. Anything to report?”

Jim looks down at his shoulder tote.

“Just overworked from school.” He lies before he can even fully think about his the severity of what he’s done. Internally, his rational brain screams at him. _WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING, JIM?_

Teacher mode activated again, Strickler looks like he actually cares for Jim again as he fiddles with a chess piece. Jim feels a chess metaphor coming on that he’s not sure he’s prepares for. Instead, Strickler flicks the white king down, as if representing the fall of Kanjigar. With Trollmarket’s protector gone, they’re in checkmate. “You know, Atlas once-“

“-Carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, I know.” Jim repeats dutifully.

Strickler’s fond of saying that whenever Jim overworks himself. Jim thinks it’s his sardonic way of reprimanding Jim for taking on too many responsibilities in either of his lives.

“Get back to class.” Strickler says. He moves the black king to the front of the board.

Now _that’s_ subtle.

Jim scuttles to class as quickly as possible. He doesn’t think his heartbeat slows down until he’s sitting in class again, Mrs. Janeth’s voice sounds like static with his chest pounding in his ears. Everything feels fuzzy. Because Jim just _lied_ to his handler.

**V**

_It’s fine_ , Jim tells himself.

_You’re going to tell him the next time you see him. You’re just waiting to make sure that it really is the trollhunter amulet._

_You holding onto it is a good thing, actually. You’re keeping the next trollhunter from being chosen, and you’re safekeeping it for Bular._

_You’re going to bring it to Strickler the next time you see him._

His phone rings with a call from Toby as Jim sits on the couch, eating pizza. In the privacy of his own home, with the curtains drawn, he pulls out the trollhunter amulet to examine it. It’s a beautiful piece of magic and machinery, too complex for someone as young and inexperienced to understand. Trollish runes are inscribed along the side. Jim’s fluency with the language is rusty, but he’s trying to figure out what it says when Toby rings.

“Hey, Tobes. What’s up?” He asks, barely taking his eyes away from the amulet. The TV chatters on in the background as white noise- makes it harder for prying ears to listen.

“Did that thing speak to you again?” Toby asks excitedly in lieu of a greeting. Always straight to the point when it comes to something he’s interested in.

“Mm, no, not since I picked it up.”

He turns it over in his hands. He recognizes one word- _Merlin_. It must be an incantation of sorts, that only a troll or maybe even the wielder would be able to understand. After all, even though Jim can sort of read Trollish, even trying to comprehend this simple phrase makes his brain cloud over in a weird fog. But other than that, it hasn’t done anything since this morning- if it was even what called his name at all.

Toby clearly seems to think so.

“What do you think it is? My research indicates that it might be some kind of toy.” Toby continues. Over the phone, it sounds like he’s typing on his computer, giddy at the idea of being the guy in the chair. “But it doesn’t seem normal, does it? Unless you’ve suddenly gone crazy.”

“Probably.” Jim says. If he’s keeping such a thing from a secret from his boss at the risk of getting violently beheaded by Bular, he must have.

“Whoa. I was just joking, Jimbo. I believe you heard it in that rock pile.” Toby says. “Must be some kind of lame magical trinket if all it can do is ominously chant someone’s name.”

Thousands of trolls would probably collapse in shock if they heard their magical, sacred amulet called a lame trinket.

“Maybe it’ll do something else.” Jim says- doubtful, unless it decides to disappear and go to the next trollhunter. Jim isn’t sure how the magic or the selection process even works. Hopefully, he’s kept the next trollhunter from getting selected by holding onto it.

“Yeah…” Toby says doubtfully. “Well, let me know if it does something else, okay?”

“I will.” There’s no use in keeping Toby in the dark about this. As far as he understands, he and Jim are just two ordinary teenagers who stumbled upon something unreal. Not to mention Jim as a person would be equally as excited about something like this. On the surface, he’s a bored teenager who wants what most teen boys want- adventure.

(But are his two selves really that different?)

The thought strikes him as Toby hangs up, probably off to play RuneScape until something new happens to the amulet. Jim stares his phone’s blank screen as he desperately tries to shake that blasphemous thought right out of his head. The changeling isn’t Jim Lake. He’s nothing but an empty shell.

He’ll grow out of it. He’ll grow out of it. He’ll grow…

The words suddenly become clear to him.

_Huh?_

Jim squints, bringing the amulet closer to his face. The inscription suddenly becomes clear in his mind’s eye, as if he’d been able to read it the entire time. In English, too- the written language Jim has a better time comprehending. _For the Glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command._

That must be the inscription that the trollhunter utters when he wants to don the armor. Jim’s heard the stories, told in hushed tones by young changelings waiting for their assignments in the Darklands. Most often in fearful tones. He was a baby at the time- it was hard not to leave an impression.

In his hands he holds the instrument of his own demise. Whoever wields this next would surely kill him if they found out his true nature. Bular would surely kill him if he found out Jim was hiding this.

_Curiosity killed the cat…_

What was that?

Jim’s seconds away from mumbling the incantation when he hears a shifting sound. Raccoons?

Instinct kicks in as he goes on alert. Jim pulls himself off the couch silently, listening. It isn’t mom- there’s no telltale sign of tires squeaking that usually accompanies her arrival. It could just be a small animal, but the self-preservation kicks in. Jim slinks to the kitchen and pulls a knife out of the block.

It sounded like it came from the garage. Jim pushes the door open, wincing as it creaks. Nothing- the garage is in disarray, as usual- he makes a mental note that he needs to clean it later. Curious, Jim steps outside, brandishing his knife in front of him, careful to peer around corners before he moves around them.

The trash can looks empty. It was clearly pushed over by something, which lends do the raccoon theory. It also could be Strickler coming to kill him because he found out Jim lied this morning- no, he wouldn’t be so unsubtle.

Jim goes silent. He can only hear the sounds of the grass whispering in the wind and the insects out in the forest behind his home. And, if he strains his ears, a faint mumble. Someone sounds like they’re whispering.

“… Must use caution… kind don’t know we exist…”

“… say hello?”

“…. Aarrrgh. We will be polite and…”

It sounds like they’re in the basement. Jim whirls around to the other side where he can peek into the window from the basement. Two shadowy figures have _broken into his home_. Based on their silhouettes, they don’t look human.

It can’t be Bular.

And yet-

Jim shivers.

He creeps back inside, opening the basement door. The whispers are clearer now, two distinct voices- one that sounds distinctly eloquent, and the other nothing but a deep rumble. They must be _trolls_. But why would they be here?

He's going to have to hide and try to listen in on their conversation.

Only, his foot creaks as he tiptoes down the stairs. The two trolls whirl around to look at him, and Jim gets a better look at his intruders. One of them has six eyes and four arms, and the other is a hulking _giant_. The both of them barely fit in his basement.

They must be here to kill him.

Like a deer caught in headlights, Jim takes a step back, ready to run. Fear keeps him from shifting in front of them for more speed- it’s doubtful that it would give him much of a head start. The big one looks like he means business.

The six-eyed one takes a frantic step forward. “Wait, Master Jim, don’t be alarmed! We mean you no harm!” He pauses, tapping his chin. “Yes, that should be friendly enough.”

He has to run, he has to get out of here, flee flee, flee-

Wait.

Did he just say “Master”?

“Who are you?” Jim demands, pointing his knife at each of them. They don’t look especially alarmed at the weapon in his hands, but they don’t look ready to attack at a moment’s notice. “And what did you just call me?”

“Now, now, there’s a simple explanation for all of this.” The six-eyed one continues placatingly. Jim’s arms shake. He’s been trained for this moment, when he’ll have to fight for his life against hostile trolls, but he can’t bring himself to do it. He’s just too afraid. “You see, I am Blinky, and this is my dear friend Aarrrgh.”

“Three R’s.” The taller one says, holding up two fingers.

HOLY SHIT THAT’S GUNMAR’S EX-GENERAL.

“And I call you master Jim, although the title new Trollhunter might be more apt.” Blinky continues while Aarrrgh gives him a toothy, nonthreatening smile.

That’s the moment that Jim’s mind grinds to a halt. He literally can’t process what Blinky just said, because _no_. No way is this real. This must be a cruel prank, or a joke by fate. There’s no way that Jim could be the next Trollhunter.

The world spins, and the next thing that Jim sees is the floor rushing up to meet him.

Jim promptly faints.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim is delivered some news and has to make a choice.
> 
> Or, more accurately, fate made the choice for him. He has to decide if he wants to go along willingly, or if he wants to be dragged, kicking and screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably won't be as fast with chapters in the future, I just wanted to publish this part and get over this hurdle. I love digging into Jim's internal monologue, but I feel like this was the hardest part for me to write. I feel like Changeling Jim is slightly more shrewd than his canon counterpart, so trying to convey him making irrational choices like this was a bit difficult, haha
> 
> That being said, hope you enjoy!

**VI**

He wakes up to soft stoneskin patting his cheek.

“Be gentle with him, Aarrrgh. I’ve heard that humans are fragile creatures.”

It looks like that bad dream wasn’t so much of a bad dream after all.

Jim squeezes his eyes shut, playing dead the best he can. Maybe if he pretends to be asleep, he can just fall unconscious again and wake up to a world where none of this ever happened-

“Ah, careful! It seems like he’s coming to!”

Damnit.

Jim blinks awake slowly, going through a mental checklist as he tests his facilities. Everything seems to be in working order, and it looks like they didn’t disarm him, either, because he’s still got the kitchen knife clutched in his hand.

The good news: they haven’t killed him, and they don’t seem to be openly hostile.

The bad news: Jim will likely be dead in a week if this isn’t a cruel joke.

“Welcome to the land of the living, Master Jim!” Blinky says, clapping his many hands together as Jim sits up slowly. Thankfully, delirium and the recent fainant spell cover for his confusion, because he doesn’t have to put up much of an act as he stares, wide-eyed, at Blinky and Aarrrgh.

“I thought it was a dream.” He admits truthfully.

“Ah, well, yes, I suppose that our kind might come as a shock to you humans.”

“And what exactly is your kind?” Jim decides to play the fool even though he already knows the answer. That seems to be the smart play here.

“Trollkind.” Blinky says.

“Trolls? Like the mythological kind that live under the bridge?” He asks dumbly.

“Precisely! Master Jim, unbeknownst to you, there’s a secret society built under your world made up of trolls. And you have just been selected to hold the highest title of honor within our world.” He’s delivering so much information at once that Jim’s head spins. Never mind if he were a normal, ignorant human.

“Highest honor- _how_?”

What in the world could’ve possessed them to think that he’s the Trollhunter? Just because he picked up the amulet?

“Well, the truth is that we’ve been spying on you.” Blinky admits somewhat sheepishly. Another wave of panic courses through his veins, because if they’ve been watching him since he found the amulet, then that means they may have heard his conversation with Strickler- but they wouldn’t be so nonchalant and friendly with him in that case, would they?

Blinky forges on, oblivious to Jim’s internal crisis. “And we saw from the sewers that the Trollhunter amulet- that so-called “trinket” you found- called out to _you_.”

“Called out to me?”

“You heard it saying your name, no?”

That’s- no way. Jim must’ve been imagining it. Or it meant some other nearby James Lake Jr. There’s no chance that the amulet would’ve made a mistake by choosing a changeling to represent it.

He holds the thing in his hands, clutching it closer to his chest. He’d kept it in his pocket all day, and now it almost feels comfortably warm to the touch. It pulses in response to his emotional state. “I thought I was imagining things, but- are you sure?”

Maybe Blinky made a mistake. Yeah, that must be it. Jim will just give it to him and pretend that he didn’t see anything.

“Positive. You were able to find it because you answered its call.” Blinky smiles. He means for it to be reassuring.

“But-“ Jim scrambles for another excuse. “But shouldn’t the protector of trolls be an actual troll?”

“Traditionally, yes, but it seems that fate has chosen a human trollhunter for once.”

_Human_.

Jim stares at the trollhunter amulet once more. It glimmers, almost like it’s pleased that Jim’s finally acknowledged it as his. Which is still a foreign concept, but he knows better than to challenge the whims of fate if that’s what it has in store for him.

What a serendipitous thing.

Ha. Human.

Maybe it was originally intended to go to the real, human James Lake Jr. that he replaced? That if he hadn’t been selected by some weird stroke of luck, a human Jim would be here, holding the amulet, experiencing a sense of wonder and excitement rather than dread?

Who knows. It’s not like he can give Jim that chance now.

Blinky helps Jim off the ground. He has an expectant look on his face, like he believes that Jim could hang the moon and the stars in the sky for him. It’s probably not so far off- Jim is officially their last hope, with Bular back in town.

_The changeling_ is officially their last hope.

They need to know that he’s not what they wanted. Not what they deserve. Then maybe they’ll kill him quickly and pass it on to someone that can properly bear the title for Trollkind. Hell, maybe this time it’ll pick an actual human and not an impostor.

“Look, Mr. Blinky…” Jim starts. He holds out the amulet to the troll, who stares at it, confused. “I know what you’re saying, but I can’t be the trollhunter.”

“Nonsense. You were chosen.” Blinky says stubbornly.

Well, this is going to be harder than he thought.

“No, you don’t understand.” Jim says, a little more frustrated this time. “I _can’t_ be the first human Trollhunter.”

“I think I know what’s going on here.” Blinky’s face changes abruptly, from the smile it had been only seconds ago to a more solemn expression. Jim swallows. He’s nervous, but he also can’t help but feel relieved. At least Blinky and Aarrrgh will give him a less painful death than Bular would.

He sighs. “Good. Then I-“

“It can be hard for someone your age to comprehend the responsibility that has been thrust upon you. Don’t worry- with time, you’ll grow into the title in time to protect the threat that plagues our world.”

His shoulders slump. _They’re just… not getting it._

Do they not even want to _consider_ the implications of what Jim is saying?

No- it’s not that. If the fact that Jim isn’t quite human doesn’t naturally come to them, then it probably means they aren’t even aware changelings have already infiltrated Arcadia, so close to their home.

They don’t even _know_. Their Trollhunter was just killed and they’re completely in the dark as to how close their demise is.

“Will you at least let me think about it?” He tries weakly.

Blinky must take note of how weak Jim looks, the uncertain sweat on his brow betraying his inner turmoil. The troll’s pity must overtake his urgency, because he pats Jim on the shoulder and says, “Of course. We can be back tomorrow night- give you a little while to digest.”

He’s bought himself a day to figure this out at least.

**VII**

Needless to say, Jim doesn’t get much sleep that night.

**VIII**

He resolves to tell Strickler the second he steps into his handler’s office for their usual meeting. That’s the only way he can feel better about all of this. “Mr. Strickler, I need to tell you something-“

But he stops when he sees the serious look on Mr. Strickler’s face. His handler clicks his pen open and shut in his hands, fixing Jim with another serious look. The atmosphere feels considerably heavier than it did only a day ago, as if the weight of Strickler’s knowing eyes could crush Jim like a physical weight.

“I’ve been asked to bring you to a meeting tonight.” He explains. “Bular wants all hands on deck in search of the new Trollhunter. He’s looking to kill the new charge and get his hands on the amulet so that we can open Killahead bridge as soon as it’s finished.”

“… And why does he want everyone there?”

For a moment, Jim wonders if Strickler knows every one of his dirty secrets. There’s no way Strickler isn’t already aware Jim has the amulet. He knows everything that goes on in this town.

But then his handler leans back in his chair. “We have reason to suspect that the next holder of the trollhunter amulet is a human. Bular went to scope out Kanjigar’s remains after the sun went down last night and they were missing. Unless the bloody thing can teleport, then that means it was picked up by a human.”

_Jim’s heart stutters._

“So he wants us to find and kill whatever unfortunate person found it before they can figure out what it is.”

“But wait! Wouldn’t it be better to keep whoever it is alive?” Jim asks frantically, searching for a rational reason to keep his ass safe. Appeal to Strickler’s sense of proper planning and subterfuge. Strickler raises an eyebrow, prompting Jim to continue. “W-Well, if the Trollhunter were someone who didn’t know what they were doing, and a human at that, wouldn’t it be easier to manipulate them into joining our cause? Then we wouldn’t have to worry about another, more experienced Trollhunter being chosen and throwing a wrench in our plans, either.”

Yeah, that seems smart enough. Jim leans back in his seat, finally relaxed now that he’s found a sound argument for why he shouldn’t be killed immediately.

Strickler just frowns. “Of course _I_ know that, Jim. But there’s only so much time I can buy before Bular gets antsy. I don’t think it would be wise to deny him what he wants. And if he wants to kill the Trollhunter, then I suppose that’s a necessary evil.”

Jim’s mouth feels dry.

Well, there goes that plan.

“But enough about the meeting. What did you want to tell me?”

“Nothing.” Jim closes his mouth so tightly that he can feel his jaw click. “I forgot.”

**IX**

Jim’s so busy contemplating his life and death that he doesn’t even notice when he bumps into Claire Nunez in the hallway. The two of them sprawl to the ground as fliers scatter everywhere. “Sorry!” He exclaims at the same time Claire very eloquently yells, “Shit!”

Jim rubs at the part of his chest that Claire bumped into.

The two of them stare at each other.

Awkwardly, Jim scoops down to pick up the fliers he made her drop. His hand brushes over hers as they reach for the same flier. Jim jerks backwards, eyes flying up to meet hers. He opens his mouth to say something, but everything he had in mind dies on his lips as he stares at her face. She’s staring at him politely, like she’s trying to figure out if he’s weird or just shy.

Jim looks away first- he’s not sure why he feels like he’s run a marathon all of a sudden.

The changeling picked Claire because she was convenient to have a crush on. With different social leagues, he’s practically guaranteed to always be admiring from afar. But now that he’s in front of her, his stomach feels like a pancake flipping and flopping back and forth.

“… Hi.” Claire says eventually once it’s clear that Jim’s just going to stand there with his mouth hanging open wide enough to catch flies.

“I’m _so_ sorry I bumped into you.” Jim manages to snap out of his reverie, helping her collect the scattered fliers for… the fall play? There’s a silhouette of a girl wearing a poofy dress next to a guy holding a sword, which seems pretty standard medieval wear, so that doesn’t really narrow it down. The cursive that reads _Romeo and Juliet_ does, though. “Are you passing these out?” He asks.

Claire brightens. It’s like he flipped a switch in her with one question, and she instantly transforms from politely distant to bright and excited. “Yes! Auditions are starting soon. Mostly, it’ll only be the theater kids trying out, but you know. There’s always an imbalance between girls and guys. So I’m trying to see if I could drum up some interest.”

Come to think of it, in the few school productions Jim’s been to, most male roles were either played by Eli Pepperjack or a girl wearing a wig.

Jim looks down at the flier again.

The changeling thinks that it’s a bad idea. Jim Lake would one hundred percent try out for this play if it meant getting to spend time with Claire.

“Well, I’m not good at theater, but I could audition if that would help…?”

That turns out to be the right thing to say, because Claire smiles so widely he’s not certain how she isn’t spraining her cheek muscles. She leans over and hugs him quickly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Really? Oh, you’re such a life saver! Thanks, Jake!”

And she even almost knows his name!

“It’s, um, Jim actually-“ He says, but Claire’s already scooped up the rest of the fliers and gone on her way, leaving him reeling from what just happened. Like she’s a whirlwind and Jim’s been caught in the afterstorm.

He tucks the flier in his bag and goes on his way.

**X**

The legends Jim grew up hearing about Bular don’t do the troll justice. He _towers_ over Jim, as wide as he is tall. One of his tusks alone would be enough to impale Jim. One meager swipe of his claw would probably end Jim’s short life. The only thing keeping him safe is the sunlight filtering through the sunroof of the museum, restricting Bular to stalking the darker half of the room. The changelings present are all smart enough to stand on the safe side.

“I am growing impatient.” Bular growls, flexing his hand. His claws look like they’re covered in dried blood that hasn’t yet cleaned off. Jim doesn’t even want to think about who or what those remains used to be.

“We’re trying our best.” Strickler says in that placating voice of his, little good as it does to keep Bular from reaching over to take a swipe at him. Thankfully, the daylight prevents him from hitting- Bular grimaces in pain as he pulls back into the shadows.

It’s his eyes, Jim decides.

They look like they could physically pierce his heart with a single glare.

“Well try harder. It shouldn’t be hard to find a human with a glowing sword and a suit of armor, should it?” Those terrible slivers of yellow light sweep across his audience, landing on each one as if accusing them.

“We’ve narrowed it down to a student at Arcadia Oaks High.” Mr. Strickler says, which.

_WHAT_.

Jim has to keep himself from visibly reacting to that piece of news- not when he’s in this den of sharks. Externally, his face is carefully blank as he resists the urge to pass out for the second time in two days. Strickler didn’t even think to _tell_ him that they’d narrowed it down that much- why?

Bular growls in interest.

“The canal is often used for students who are late to school. Any one of them could’ve cut through and picked up the trollhunter amulet, thought it was nothing but a trinket, and pocketed it.”

“Then find the student for me.” Bular says, less interested in Strickler’s (completely on the nose) line of thinking and more interested in the prospect of blood.

“It doesn’t work that way in the human world.” Strickler says. “We’re going to need a quieter approach. That’s where the young one comes in.”

All eyes turn to Jim. He straightens his back instantly, hands clasped together, thanking the gods that he put on a track jacket this morning so they can’t see his sweat. “Um, what?”

“Bular, I offer you my newest spy.” Mr. Strickler gestures towards Jim proudly. “He’s young and inexperienced, but it seems luck has placed him in the perfect position to find the Trollhunter. All he has to do is scope out his fellow classmates and find them for us.”

_I CAN WHAT?_

Jim’s never even handled so much as spying on a pack of goblins before, much less the pivotal position of hunting down the very key to Gunmar’s demise! Why the hell would Strickler want _him_ to do it?

Bular gives Jim another scrutinizing look. “You want an impure fresh out of the Darklands to take care of this? I would rather go to that damned school and slaughter every child in there myself.”

Thank god Bular is on his side.

Wait, no, that’s actually a terrible thing. Slaughtering kids is _very_ bad!

“That would rouse too much _suspicion_.” Strickler says, firmer this time, with a hint of exasperation that says they’ve had this conversation countless times before. “You have not witnessed what kind of firepower the U.S military possesses now. They would readily turn it on a terrorist suck as yourself- you would certainly be granted no mercy if you were to attack a school, and even someone great and powerful as yourself would not survive.”

His eyes glint yellow as he says that.

“I can handle mere swords.”

“Can you handle guns? Tanks?”

The two stare off, each challenging each other with their will. Strickler, defiant. Bular, irritated.

“Fine.” Bular grumbles. He turns around and faces Killahead bridge. Desperation for his father’s return has pushed him to side with the changelings for a little longer, it looks like. “The young impure will find the trollhunter for me. Then I will kill them.”

Jim knows that he’s the trollhunter (at least according to Blinky and Aarrrgh).

Still, horrid images flash through his mind every time he closes his eyes. Toby, Claire, Steve, Eli- any of his classmates could’ve been the one to pick up the amulet, and they wouldn’t even _know_ any better. The only indication that they ever lived at all would be their bloody and broken body on the stone floor of this museum. Their lifeless eyes would be trained right on _Jim_ , and they would hate him for being the one to sell them out. They would know he’s nothing more than a filthy traitor.

And they would curse him for it. In their final moments, they wouldn’t hate Bular for killing them. They would hate Jim for being scum.

And Jim would watch it all happen, too _afraidcowardlyscared_ to even do anything. He would go home and he would scrub his hands in the sink until they were rubbed raw- and he would still feel dirty.

_No_.

“Young Atlas?”

Jim blinks and he’s in the parking lot. Mr. Strickler has his hand on Jim’s back, guiding him into his car in a way that could only be described as concerned. For a minute, Jim can almost pretend that Strickler genuinely cares about him.

“Mr. Strickler? Where…” He looks around, trying to gather his bearings.

“I’m taking you home. You missed the rest of the meeting.” His handler explains as he opens the car door for Jim to climb in. Jim obliges, settling down in the leather seat. It’s supposed to feel comfortable, and yet, he almost feels like he’s sitting in a torture chair. “You were awfully spaced out.”

“Haha, yeah…”

“I understand that this is a big undertaking.”

Jim nods, stiff as a board.

“But I believe in you. You may be green, but you’re smart. Quick on your feet. This is the perfect opportunity for you to prove to Bular that you deserve a higher position.” He says. His thumb taps the side of the steering wheel to the beat of the _Fleetwood Mac_ CD playing softly through the speakers. Jim senses a lecture coming on.

“Not many as young as you have been awarded such a high opportunity. Most of us in the Janus order have to wait hundreds of years to prove their worth. And now that we’ve been lucky enough for this to drop in your lap…”

Jim’s heard it all before. About how the younger changelings have no idea how hard it was for the older ones to survive, how they need to prove their usefulness as quickly as possible. There’s just one little problem, and it’s sitting in his bag.

He can tell Strickler. If his handler is going this far to help his charge rise through the ranks, Jim knows that he’ll be able to help somehow. Jim opens his bag, reaching for the amulet pulsing in response. “Mr. Strickler? I need to tell you something.”

“-And I know that this is the perfect opportunity for you to prove you’ve outgrown your softness- yes, Jim?” He asks, halting his monologue as Jim’s fingers wrap around the cool metal-

And Jim chickens out again.

“Um. I. Uh.” He stammers, looking for any topic to bring up now that he’s spoken. His eyes dart around, for something, _anything_ \- until his eyes land on the slightly wrinkly piece of paper that drifted to the bottom of his bag over the course of the day. Bingo! “I just wanted to say that I think I found a way to get closer to some of the students in the school.”

Mr. Strickler raises an eyebrow as Jim holds up the Romeo and Juliet flier.

**XI**

_I_ _can’t believe I’m really doing this._

Jim stands in his backyard, right as the last rays of sunset peek over the stretch of woods in his backyard. Painstaking hours of mulling over it on his couch after that disastrous meeting with Bular left Jim entirely torn.

On one hand, this goes against everything he’s ever known. Jim was made in the Darklands, created to serve Bular and bring about the destruction of humanity.

On the other hand, he’s only loyal to them out of fear. He fears Strickler, he fears all his seniors in the Janus order. And, most of all, he fears Bular and Gunmar most of all. This could be his chance to escape this life for good.

Eventually, the entire mental argument gave Jim a splitting headache and he had to physically get up and make himself some tea to calm down. While he was waiting for the water to boil, a thought occurred to him- none of this even matters if Blinky wrongly assumed he’s the Trollhunter.

So he finished his cup and grabbed the amulet off the table where he left it. Experimentation is in order.

_Really… I can’t believe I’m doing this._

For someone like him to don the armor has to be some sort of sacrilege.

He steels himself and repeats the incantation dutifully. In the dead silence of the dusk, he can feel the magic behind his words, the simple phrase echoing through the hills. “For the glory of Merlin, Daylight is mine to command.”

…

_Huh. Nothing’s happening. Maybe Blinky was wrong._

He barely even finishes that thought before Jim feels the wind pick up. Like a swirling, self-centered tempest, the wind picks him up from the ground, pulsating with bright blue light. Jim gasps, eyes drawn every which way to the pieces of armor popping into existence and landing on his body. With each different piece that flies toward him, Jim _feels_ the power coursing through him.

It’s not violent. It almost feels like a heartbeat, like a warm beam of the sun’s rays basking Jim in his glow. As he lands on the grass again with a dull thud, something heavy forms in the palm of his hand. Even without looking, Jim instinctually knows what it is.

The sword of Daylight.

It shouldn’t feel this natural.

He tosses the sword from hand to hand- the weight feels so normal to hold, even though Jim’s more skilled with small blades. It’s solid, but not impossible for him to lift. Jim runs a gloved finger across the side of the blade curiously.

The sunlight magic hums in response, happy that Jim’s finally drilled it through his thick skull that this is all really happening.

“Oh my god, I’m the trollhunter.” He whispers.

“The armor fits you well, Master Jim.” A familiar voice cuts in.

Jim whirls around- self preservation kicks in and he brings the sword of daylight through the air, gripping the hilt in his hands and _slams_ it down-

Only to come face to face with a familiar troll with six eyes. Six alarmed eyes, mouth parted mid scream as Jim attacks him in a panic.

SHIT, SHIT, SHIT-

The momentum is too much for him to stop, so Jim changes direction. Daylight embeds itself in the ground with a swish and a thunk right next to Blinky’s foot. The troll breathes a sigh of relief.

“Don’t.” Jim wheezes, clutching at his heart. “Don’t scare me like that.”

_I thought you were someone else. I thought you were someone who shouldn’t be here._

“My apologies, Master Jim!” Blinky says, only sounding somewhat guilty. If anything, he’s assessing Jim’s reaction time and his ability to wield Daylight. If Jim had to guess, he wasn’t expecting a human to be able to move like that. At least that’s one good thing- Jim’s quick. “We didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Behind him, Aarrrgh nods and rumbles in response. “Amulet yours?”

“Ah, yeah. I guess it really did pick me.”

There’s no doubt about it now. Fate must have been in for a laugh when it selected Jim. There’s no way he’ll be able to keep this from Bular, and absolutely no chance that Strickler won’t find out. He’s already hot on Jim’s trail- and this suit of magical glowing armor isn’t exactly subtle.

“You don’t look happy.” Blinky notes. “I thought human teenagers had a sense of adventure?”

This isn’t adventure. This is the hallmark of Jim’s death.

But, then again, if Bular has his way and his father is brought back, that’s the end of _everyone_. Jim might live, but his classmates and friends will be eaten alive. Claire, Toby, _Mom_. And in the middle of it all, Jim is the only one that can tip the scales.

It would be all too easy to pick the winning side.

Jim grips Daylight, finally determined in his choice. He may never have been truly worthy of the amulet, but he wants to be. He doesn’t have to live in fear of Gunmar anymore. Jim can turn the tides.

“It’s just… I understand this is a big honor.” Jim says slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I never even knew this entire world existed before now. Will I get training?”

That turns out to be the right thing to say, because Blinky claps his hands together. He turns around and nods to Aarrrgh. “Of course! We wouldn’t expect our new protector to go into battle when he can’t defend himself! Especially not when you’re going to have to fight what killed the last trollhunter!”

“And what killed the last trollhunter?”

The smile slowly slides off Aarrrgh’s face. Blinky closes his eyes and shakes his head. “He’s a great and terrible monster that has plagued Trollkind for centuries.”

“Bular.” Aarrrgh supplies the name woefully. Not that Jim blames him- if there’s anyone that knows about the horrors of working for Gunmar and his son, it would be his general. He actually respects Aarrrgh for being able to see how vicious and awful the Gumm-Gumms are and get out.

Maybe this is _his_ chance.

The hope is foolish, but… if they accepted Aarrrgh, then maybe they wouldn’t hate Jim if they found out who he really is? Not like it matters- Jim already knows what side he's picked in his mind.

“Okay.” Jim says.

“And of course we understand this is no small choice for a human- what?” Blinky stops mid-monologue, staring at Jim like he’s suddenly grown two heads. Jim fidgets, shrugging.

“What? If I understand correctly, it’s not like I have a choice. Besides, I tried to get rid of this thing and it just came right back.” While he was agonizing over things earlier, Jim tried just throwing it into the forest so he wouldn’t have to think about it anymore. The damn thing just teleported and hit him in the back of the head with the amount of strength Jim threw it with. “Better to just accept it and do what I can to survive, right?”

Besides, how hard could it be to juggle _three_ lives instead of two?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim visits Trollmarket for the first time.
> 
> They aren't sure what to make of the human. In their opinion, he's awfully skittish. He probably won't last long anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another quick chapter! 
> 
> Another quick note, this work was inspired by Becoming the Mask by Moonlit_wings here on AO3. I'm a sucker for changeling Jim fics, and I was reading that one when I was inspired to write my own. They brought up a good point in their own work about Kanjigar's remains that I thought just made sense- that's why I included that scene in this chapter. 
> 
> Also you should definitely go check out Becoming the Mask if you haven't read it already! Their changeling lore is super in depth and I love it

**XII**

“If I profane with my unworthiest hand… This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this; my lips, two-“

He forgets the words.

“Blushing Pilgrims.” Mrs. Janeth supplies, clearly unimpressed. Jim, who is by _no_ means a thespian, grumbles and clasps his hands behind his back so she doesn’t see him fiddling with his thumbs. He memorized the dialogue _an hour ago_ when Toby frantically reminded him to pick up his copy of No Fear Shakespeare and actually learn something for the audition.

To be honest, his promise to Claire slipped his mind. _The Changeling_ was too busy trying to figure out a plan for how to keep his new nightly activities a secret from his handler, all while he was at the museum last night helping the goblins stack piece after piece of Killahead. Only one day on the job and his normal human life is getting pushed to the side.

At least his distracted behavior can be chalked up as general fatigue. Both Toby and Claire commented on the bags under his eyes as he stumbled to the auditorium to give this pitiful excuse of a monologue.

Next to him, Claire hides a snicker behind her script.

_Why does_ she _get one? She’s the best in the school, but does she already have the part of Juliet?_

“-Two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.” Jim finishes lamely, looking towards Claire with a shrug, as if to say, _told you I’m not very good._

Claire clears her throat and reads from her script. The way she delivers emotion even in this simple scene is incredible. When she closes her eyes and opens them again, her entire stance shifts, like she’s already taken on Juliet’s character- demure and shy, like she seriously believes that, in this moment, they’re passionate lovers who know that it’s forbidden.

“Good Pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much…”

When Jim finishes the scene, Mrs. Janeth scoffs and writes something down on her clipboard. “Thank you, James.” She intones. Her resigned demeanor probably means that Jim underperformed, but got the part on virtue of being the only male that responded to the advert.

Claire grins at him, flashing him a thumbs up. With the audition over, the two of them move backstage. “Hey, you did great!” She congratulates Jim by patting him on the back. “For someone who doesn’t have any acting experience, you’re not so bad at it.”

_Thanks, I’ve been pretending to be a normal person for fifteen years._

Ironically, that almost makes Jim feel worse about his poor acting skills. You’d think he’d be able to pick up the ability to play another person like a fish to water, but maybe Jim’s never been really good at that. Maybe that just speaks to how his personality and Jim’s aren’t so different.

“Well, it was a lot more fun than I thought it would be.” He admits sheepishly. Mostly, it was just enjoyable spending time with Claire on the stage.

“I can tell that you definitely got the part.” Claire assures him. “Mrs. Janeth was more impressed with you than anyone else who tried out for the part of Romeo.”

Come to think of it, Eli had despaired when Jim walked off the stage. Hopefully, he doesn’t get too mad at Jim for stealing his proverbial thunder. Jim grins sheepishly, opening his mouth to say something when he notices a figure standing near the front door out of the corner of his eye.

His blood freezes in his veins.

“Jim? Are you okay?” Claire asks as Strickler picks himself up from the wall and approaches them.

Years of habit force Jim to assess Strickler’s body language, figuring out whether or not Strickler’s going to attack, or if he’s going to be mad. He has to force himself to relax- Strickler wouldn’t discipline him in public where people could see. Even so, his body language is deceptively calm. Jim can’t tell what he’s thinking _at all_.

“I see that your audition went well, Young Atlas.”

“Thanks.” Jim says, eyes flicking between Claire, watching the exchange skeptically, and Strickler, who’s got his hand firmly clamped on Jim’s shoulder. “I thought it was time to branch out and meet new people, you know?”

_I’ve got this taken care of_ , he doesn’t say. Strickler picks up on the subtext in his phrase nonetheless. It’s the closest that Jim has ever come to telling his handler to back off.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea, but… are you sure that you can handle a play on top of your heavy workload?”

It’s no secret that Strickler thinks this is just a frivolous pastime. When Jim brought up the idea, Strickler dismissed it, saying that Jim’s priorities were getting confused. Jim responded by standing firm, saying that the social sphere in the theater might help him get a better sense for gossip.

“I can.” He says.

Strickler nods. For a minute, his gaze is dangerously frosty. Then, he releases his grip on Jim’s shoulder. “Then I hope that you find what you’re looking for in this club.” He says. _Find results or else._ “Ms. Nunez.” He nods at Claire as he takes his leave. “Your performance was stunning, as usual. I think that Shakespeare himself wouldn’t find fault in your performance if he were to watch you.”

The compliment makes Claire forget all about that tense exchange. “Aw, really?” She asks bashfully, rubbing at the back of her neck. “Thanks, Mr. Strickler!”

Jim doesn’t relax until Strickler is out of sight. When it’s safe, he collapses to the floor, frantically grasping at his jacket while taking heaving breaths. Never in his life would he imagine talking back to Strickler like that. The man practically raised him, as much as someone can raise a changeling child.

_T_ _his… is going to be harder than I thought._

**XIII**

Blinky made the executive decision to begin Jim’s training _posthaste_ (his words). The moment that Jim accepted his duty as Trollhunter, Blinky and Aarrrgh declared that, the next night, they would take him into Trollmarket and prepare him for Bular’s next attack.

They’re in the dark as to what Bular’s plans are, though, because _when_ Jim will have to fight for his life is unclear. They’ve guesstimated that Jim has a few days at most before Bular thirsts for blood again and starts seeking him out. They’re not wrong- they just don’t know that the only thing keeping Bular from going on a rampage to find the trollhunter is, well, Jim’s search.

In just one day, his life has gotten so much more complicated.

“He’s been surprisingly quiet since he felled Kanjigar.” Blinky had commented, and Jim just had to bite his lip and look away guiltily. _That’s because Bular’s priority right now is the gate- not Trollmarket._

But Jim’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Bular’s actually going to heed Strickler’s advice for now, then that means Jim has more time to figure out what the hell he’s going to do. Training is a good start, considering he should probably learn how to _use_ the magic sword if he wants a fighting chance.

Sunset comes around and Jim sends Mom off with a homemade dinner (spaghetti carbonara and garlic flatbread). She makes some offhand comment about Jim spoiling her, as she often does, and gives him a quick hug. “I know teens aren’t into that kind of thing anymore. I won’t smother you.”

Once he’s certain she’s gone, Jim searches his closet looking for something more appropriate for this outing. One quick change later, and he’s sitting on his doorstep, waiting for his new companions-slash-maybe mentors to show up. Blinky is perfectly punctual, arriving with Aarrrgh right as the sun sets.

“Good to see you’re still in good spirits, Master Jim-“ He starts, doing a double take at Jim’s outfit. “What _are_ you wearing?”

Jim looks down at his clothes. Personally, he didn’t think the all-black ensemble was all that strange, especially when he wasn’t sure if trolls understand what a _goth_ is and why it would be so weird for Jim to start dressing that way. Maybe it’s the mask- he had to dig through some old Halloween costumes to find something that covered his face enough that if someone saw it from under the hood, they wouldn’t be able to recognize him. “Oh, this?” He asks, fiddling with the drawstring of his hood. “I thought I would be careful so I don’t show my face.”

“Jim afraid?” Aarrrgh asks.

_Terrified_ would be a better word for it.

A meaty hand pats him on the back. Jim lurches forward from the force of Aarrrgh’s paw, but Aarrrgh makes sure to pull his strength so Jim isn’t hurt. He gives the big guy a nervous smile. “Well, I don’t want anything to be traced back to my mom, so…” He trails off lamely, gesturing towards the mask.

“Very thorough, Master Jim!” Blinky assures him. “I was just caught off guard by the sudden… change.”

It occurs to Jim that Blinky has only seen Jim in the same jacket and a generic pair of jeans. Neither Blinky nor Aarrrgh are wearing clothes besides basic coverings either, so they probably don’t understand the concept of dressing differently must be foreign to them. Huh.

“Now, let us make haste!” Blinky changes the subject quickly. “We shouldn’t dally on our way to Trollmarket, so we don’t run into any unsavory figures!” By unsavory figures, Jim’s pretty sure Blinky’s expecting to run into Bular. That’s a sobering thought- he quickens his pace to keep up with the two taller trolls. They take up a quick pace, not quite frantic yet but definitely in a hurry, while Jim follows. As they walk, Blinky searches for something in his bag. “Now, where did I keep that… aha!”

He pulls out a glowing piece of orange stone attached to a handle. When he catches Jim staring at the rock questioningly, Blinky holds it out for him to get a better look. “The horngazel. This is how we get into Trollmarket, Master Jim.”

“What does it do?” He asks, in awe. Hesitantly, his hand reaches out and grazes the stone. It’s warm.

Blinky chuckles. “It creates a portal between our world and yours.”

_That’s_ why Bular can’t get into Trollmarket on his own. He would need one of these.

“Can it be used anywhere?” He asks curiously. “And it would take you to Trollmarket?”

Blinky shrugs, deliberating over an answer, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “No, I don’t think so. Theoretically, you _could_ , I suppose, but you couldn’t be certain it would take you somewhere safe. Much better to go in at the regular entrance- here.”

_Under the bridge?_

It was so close this entire time and Jim had no idea. Kanjigar died so close to home- did he try to flee during the fight, with safety within arm’s reach, or did he die a hero’s death?

Those questions can wait for later- if Blinky’s at all bothered by being so close to Kanjigar’s grave, it doesn’t show on his face. He fiddles with the horngazel and begins drawing a semicircle along the canal wall. It glows with an arcane light, until Blinky puts his hand onto it and the wall crumbles away. Jim cranes his neck to get a better look.

“Come along!” Blinky says. “Much to see, much to do.”

Jim gasps as he’s shoved into the darkness. His eyes don’t have to adjust for very long- the cavern is illuminated with more glowing stones. They lead to a staircase made of crystals in the wall, spiraling downward and downward into the abyss. The height should be horrifying, but all Jim feels is a weird sense of peace standing there.

“Something on your mind?” Blinky asks.

“It’s beautiful.” Jim says.

_Toby would love this._

They take the stairs down two at a time, with Aarrrgh watching dutifully to make sure Jim doesn’t slip and fall. The crystals twinkle and chime as they descend further and further into the darkness. For a while, the violet light is the only thing keeping Jim on the right course, since his human form doesn’t have adequate night vision.

And then he sees Heartstone Trollmarket.

Everything he’s heard about this place- everything he’s _seen_ up until now could never accurately describe the sense of longing that Jim feels when he sees Trollmarket in person. The towering caverns framed by all types of minerals, glowing in all colors of the rainbow, splattering Jim’s vision in a plethora of colors. And in the center of the activity, the trolls twice as tall as Jim going about their day like normal, is the Heartstone itself.

_I_ _get it. It’s called that because it’s like a living, breathing, heart._

Blinky catches Jim’s gaping jaw and laughs good-naturedly. “That is the Heartstone, Master Jim. The life force behind Trolls, and the center of Trollmarket.”

“I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

“And there’s still even more to come. We should hurry- a human has never been allowed in Trollmarket before.”

“Cool. Great.” He pauses as a thought occurs to him. “They won’t attack me or anything, will they?” As far as he knows, the Trolls who live here are peaceful, but you never know. His hand hovers over the knife concealed in his hood pocket just in case.

“Hopefully, we won’t have to find out. Just act natural.” He assures Jim- he probably has no idea what the market’s reaction would be to Jim standing in their sacred ground, but it’ll most definitely be overwhelmingly negative. Jim keeps his head down and sticks to Aarrrgh’s side, using the bigger troll’s bulk as a natural cover.

To their credit, it works for a while. But someone was bound to notice eventually.

That’s when everything goes wrong.

**XIV**

Aarrrgh serves as a good cover while Jim sticks to his fur. The ex-general smells like grass and wildlife, Jim notes. He’s a lot less terrifying in real life and more gentle giant. Blinky distracts most curious onlookers by greeting them excitedly until they get annoyed and lose interest. Not that anyone’s paying too much attention to Jim.

Inattention blindness is a hell of a thing.

While Blinky and Aarrrgh guide him through the bustling streets, Jim peers over Aarrrgh’s shoulder periodically to peek at the stalls. He catches a glimpse of a tavern full of trolls making merry, drinking the night away. There are shops of odds and ends, bits of human trash that people are haggling for in a language that sounds more like a series of grunts than actual words.

A few small creatures scamper by his feet. Jim has to dance around them, startled, until he sees a female shop owner chase a few short men in hats away with a broom like they’re common rats. “Are those… garden gnomes?”

“Ah, your culture has them as well? Nasty little things, aren’t they?” Blinky asks.

He watches as one of them shreds the broom with sharp teeth like a paper shredder. “… We have them, but they’re used as garden decorations. They’re statues.”

“Fascinating. Perhaps the human _garden gnome_ was inspired by the likeness of these vermin? If so, why would someone willingly decorate their home with such a thing?”

Jim shrugs. “They’re cute?” Now that he’s seen the living ones, they’re a hell of a lot more vicious than the cute little porcelain figurines that his neighbors have.

“Someday, we will have to sit down and talk about the differences between human and troll culture, Master Jim.”

“I’d like that.”

Blinky looks like he wasn’t expecting that response. He looks at Jim with newfound respect, and Jim remembers that Blinky admitted to being a scholar at one point. He’d probably love a crash course on human culture.

Then the smile falls off Blinky’s face. “Look out!”

Something big and solid hits Jim in the face- he sprawls to the ground, rubbing at his head where it impacted solid rock. “Ow, what the fuck-“

Only, when he looks up, he didn’t run into a stalagmite.

A troll woman stares down at him, dawning horror on her face as she realizes the shrimpy kid she’s looking at is a soft, fleshy human. Her spindly stone finger points at him, shaking in horror. “Blinkous, is that a h-h-h-“

_Shit_.

Blinky holds his hands up, rapidly trying to play damage control. “Bagdwella, this is-“

“Human in Trollmarket?” She screams.

The entire market goes silent at the accusation. Jim shrinks as all eyes turn on him, completely frozen, unsure what to do. Nervously, Jim raises a hand and waves. “Um, hi.”

Blinky pinches at the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t how I wanted this to go.”

The market descends into pandemonium. People start shouting in a combination of human and Trollish. Jim pulls himself up while they’re surrounded by a mob, not quite ready to attack Jim, but fearful of him. “What should we do now?”

“We come clean.” Blinky tells him. Jim’s not really that assured, but then Blinky turns around to face the mob of trolls while Aarrrgh keeps an arm between Jim and the crowd protectively. Blinky raises his arms over his head in an attempt to quell the mob. “Everyone! We wouldn’t bring a human into Trollmarket without reason. This young man is the new trollhunter!”

He does jazz hands at Jim with a flourish.

The uncertain murmurs pick up again, with more fire behind them this time.

“The trollhunter?”

“How could a human hold suck a coveted title?”

“This is madness!”

“It is a bit… _unconventional_ , but desperate times call for desperate measures.” Blinky concedes, mostly to appease the mob.

“Amulet _chose_.” Aarrrgh adds forcefully. And even if they’re not willing to listen to the voice of reason, they’re not willing to pick a fight with the biggest and most physically imposing of them all. When no one dares oppose him, Aarrrgh settles down, huffing.

“It’s true! We’ve seen him holding the sword of Daylight.” Blinky adds helpfully. “He has every right to be here now that he’s been chosen.”

“If he can hold the sword, then he should show us!” A nasally voice pipes up from the back of the crowd, stirring them up with indignant fury. They raise their fists in the air, demanding to see proof.

“Well, you’ve heard them, Master Jim.” Blinky says nervously.

Jim pulls out the amulet and reads the inscription. Nothing happens.

“Um. It seems like I can’t do it on command.”

“He _can’t_ do it on command!” Blinky repeats with way more confidence than he should have right now. “Wait- what?”

Jim shrugs helplessly.

“Well, I suppose that’s to be expected- nobody knows how your physiology would interact with magic…”

“You think that _whelp_ is the Trollhunter?” A sneering voice booms. The crowd parts to let a burly troll through- the ones who don’t make it out of time fast enough, he shoves out of the way. Jim swallows as the imposing troll gets up close to Jim, snarling. His nose ring swings back and forth as his hot breath hits Jim’s face. Jim backs away. “The amulet must’ve made a mistake.”

_Trust me, I know._

“Draal, let’s not get hasty.” Blinky tries. “It’s not up to us to question the whims of fate.”

“Fate?” The angry troll, Draal, snarls. His lips curl back into a sneer.

Jim watches him fearfully, reminded of Bular. Despite coming from completely different sides, Draal’s demeanor radiates violence. The way he flexes his muscles, arms tensing like he’s ready to attack.

“To hell with fate. I’ll kill the trollhunter myself and take what should be mine.”

“Yours?” Jim frowns. Was this guy supposed to be the next in line? He’s still not quite sure how the selection process works. For all he knows, the previous Trollhunter selects their successor, and Jim being chosen was a freak accident.

“Draal the deadly.” Aarrrgh explains, which, _apt_. The next part of Aarrrgh’s explanation throws Jim for a loop, though. “Kanjigar’s son.”

That’s why he’s so upset.

Jim couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to lose a father, and then have some stranger roll up claiming to have inherited the legacy you thought was supposed to be yours. Jim turns back to Draal and realizes that all his hatred is because of _grief_.

“I’m sorry.” Jim bows at the waist, sorrow filling his heart. He’d been there, and held Kanjigar’s remains in his hands and watched them scatter like dust in the wind. “I know there’s no consolation for your loss, but if I had known that I was seeing your _father_ in that canal, I would’ve done what I could to honor him.”

Draal snarls. “What do _you_ know about loss? A human who’s lived a cushy life, only to take something that didn’t belong to him?”

“Then you can have the amulet.” Jim says.

A collective gasp ripples through the crowd as Jim pulls the amulet from his pocket and holds it out to Draal. Draal glares at his outstretched hand, a peace offering, and snarls. For a moment, Jim wonders if Draal is going to impale him with one of those horns and splatter his guts out on the ground.

Instead, Draal snatches the amulet from his hands and stalks off.

“Master Jim!” Blinky admonishes Jim the second that they’re out of danger, whisking Jim out of the prying eyes of Trollmarket to a more secluded library that must belong to his new mentor, judging by the state of disarray and the copious number of ancient tomes scattered on the tables. “Why did you do that? You can’t just give the amulet away now that it’s chosen you!”

“Don’t worry, I know that.” Jim digs into his pocket and pulls it out from where it settled a few minutes after they absconded. “If you reject it, it’ll just come back.”

That should be enough proof for Draal.

“Ah, you humans are crafty creatures.” Blinky says in awe. “You caused quite a stir out there! By the end of the day all of Trollmarket will have heard about our new trollhunter. What a way to introduce yourself!”

_It wasn’t my choice_ , Jim thinks dryly. Still, that encounter with Draal has left a bad taste in his mouth. Jim wrinkles his nose.

“Hey, Blinky?” He asks softly.

“Yes, Master Jim?”

“I’m really sorry about Kanjigar.”

“Why would you be? It’s not as if you played a hand in his death.” Blinky laughs, but Jim just wishes a sinkhole would open up and swallow him. Blinky leads Jim from his personal library as they continue their tour. “Now, come along! We must show you the forge- it’s time for you to begin your training.”

**XV**

The Forge is meant to be Jim’s training ground, as Blinky dutifully informs him when they enter the hallowed training grounds. “Many a legendary Trollhunter was trained here!” He gesticulates towards the many statues on the wall, depicting trolls in a familiar suit of armor.

He can almost feel their eyes on him, moving despite their lifeless bodies. Like they’re a silent council, judging him for every lie he’s told since coming here.

_Intruder._

_Impostor._

_**Impure**._

“-Jim?”

Jim flinches.

Blinky pulls his hand away, concerned. “You were a million miles away there, lad! Are you sure you’re alright? I know this is a lot to take in.”

“I’m fine, just.” Jim tries to look for the words. “If trolls turn to stone when they die, are these troll bodies?” He gestures towards the statues.

Blinky sobers. “When a trollhunter dies, their remains are brought here to the forge and immortalized. It’s somewhat of a funeral rite.” He goes on to explain how it’s meant to be a great honor; Jim just guesses that, for humans that bury their loved ones and try to forget about them as soon as possible, having their corpse hanging as a statue would be considered weird no matter how you slice it.

He explains as much to Blinky, who balks at the idea of putting a body in a box. “And what do you do with it?” He asks, scandalized.

“We bury it underground, and we put up a tombstone with their name on it.” Jim’s only been to one funeral in his lifetime, for one of Mom’s aunts. Mom hadn’t been especially close with this particular family member, and Jim only met her once. But he remembers watching the casket lowered into the grave while everyone cried around it.

“Why don’t you simply leave the body out as remembrance?” Blinky asks.

“Decomposition? And I guess humans find it painful to remember when their loved ones pass away- most of them prefer to just forget.” That’s probably the biggest difference between troll and human death traditions.

Where a human would rather drown in their sorrows until their loved one is nothing more than a blurry memory, it looks like trolls cling to those last wisps of their kinsmen, remembering and honoring them.

“Will Kanjigar be placed here with the rest of them?”

Blinky and Aarrrgh look past Jim at a familiar pile of rocks.

Someone retrieved them from the canal.

Jim releases a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding when he asked the question. Good- that means Bular didn’t take them as a trophy. They were brought home, where they belong.

“The remains will be assembled and placed up on the pedestal. And one day, Master Jim, you will be placed up here along with them!” He means for that to be a compliment, but all Jim can do is silently pray that it’s not _too_ soon. He doesn’t have high expectations, but he’d at least like to graduate high school.

_Lemme guess… Draal will be the one to put his father back together._

His suspicions are confirmed when a familiar blue face stalks into the Forge not long after. Jim slinks behind Aarrrgh’s body, not looking for a confrontation- Draal sneers at him nonetheless, but he’s too distracted by his grief to instigate another fight. He passes right by the group and crouches in front of Kanjigar. His stone hands tremble as he picks up the pieces, ever so slightly. Jim’s probably the only one that notices.

He shouldn’t have to do this alone.

It’s stupid- suicidal, even, since Draal didn’t even deign to kill him earlier- but Jim slowly approaches the troll. “Do you want help?” He asks.

“ _Master Jim_.” Blinky hisses. He motions at his neck with one of his arms in a cutting motion as it to tell Jim that he should back up before he does this very stupid thing. But it’s too late- Jim’s already asked, and there’s no taking it back now.

And boy, is Draal pissed to see his face again.

“ _LEAVE ME ALONE_.” Draal roars. “How much longer must you rub it into my face, brat?”

“I’m just trying to help.” He says. “But if you’d rather not see me, I understand.”

Draal glares. It’s meant to be threatening, but Jim’s not intimidated. He stands his ground, hand wrapping tightly around the strap of his shoulder tote. _Bular is scarier than you._

“Honoring him is the least you, an interloper, could do.” Draal growls. That’s probably the closest Jim is going to get to an invitation to help. Draal barely makes any room for Jim to help assemble the parts, and Jim can feel Draal’s eyes on him the entire time, but the two of them make slow work. Jim’s never seen what Kanjigar looks like, so he follows Draal’s barking orders for the better part of the night.

When they’re done, Jim finally gets his first look at his predecessor.

Kanjigar looks different from Draal- where the son is all angles, the father is pure bulk. It’s the difference between a jagged, spiked rock and a solid boulder. When Draal finishes, he puts his hand on his father’s chest. His head bows to the floor, mumbling something that Jim can’t hear.

Jim bows his head, too.

_I’m sorry._

Whether he’s apologizing for Kanjigar’s death or for his own failings as a successor, Jim isn’t sure. He feels follow when he turns around, back to Blinky and Aarrrgh- who are conversing with another, older troll Jim’s never met before.

“-Ah, Master Jim, this is Vendel.” He says with no small amount of apprehension in his voice. “He’s the leader of Trollmarket.”

The old troll trains his milky eyes on Jim. Even though he appears to be blind, based on his staff and his unfocused gaze, he’s easily able to evaluate Jim- and he doesn’t like what he sees. “So this is the human trollhunter that has caused such a fuss.”

“Sorry, Vendel, sir.” Jim says, unsure how to address the elder troll. _Is there some proper formal title that I should be using here? Am I committing sacrilege again?_ “I never meant to cause a scene.”

At least his formality seems to endear Vendel to him somewhat. His gnarled fingers curl around the side of his glowing staff. Jim realizes, belatedly, that it looks like a piece of the Heartstone. It gives off the same warm feeling, like he’s just stepped into his home after a chilly day to sit in front of a warm fire.

“No matter.” Vendel waves his hand airily. “It’s not as if you’ll live long anyways. Not with that one as your trainer. Blinkous Galadrigal, you should just give this up.”

_Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence._

To be fair, it's not like Jim hasn’t had that thought before.

“I will train the boy to be a proper trollhunter, Vendel.” Blinky defends himself while Aarrrgh nods along vigorously.

“Unkar the Unfortunate.” Vendel says. The words mean nothing to Jim, but Blinky winces nonetheless.

“Who’s that?” Jim asks, thoroughly lost but still trying to inject himself back into the conversation anyways. Vendel points at one of the numerous trollhunter statues lining the wall- this one considerably smaller and weaker looking than the others. It’s almost pathetic to look at.

“The last person that your mentor trained. He died on the first day of the job.”

"Torn." Aarrrgh explains ruefully.

Jim gets the feeling that he doesn't mean _conflicted_.

That explains why Blinky was so anxious to get his hands on Jim right away. Although the fact that Jim's going to be following in the footsteps of someone who earned the title _the Unfortunate_ doesn't bode well. “I’m on my second day, though. So that’s already way longer than Unkar.”

Vendel narrows his eyes. “But will you be able to survive when you will inevitably face what killed many of your predecessors before you?”

Despite himself, he falters. Bular’s face comes to mind.

“I’ll either face him or die trying.” He says.

Vendel hums in response. “You’re a strange one, young _Jim_.” He says eventually. “I suppose we’ll see whether you live or die soon enough.”

Spoken with the air of someone who truly doesn’t care about Jim’s wellbeing. Now that’s something he’s used to. Jim follows Blinky’s example and bows his head as Vendel leaves, probably off to do whatever the elder of Trollmarket does to keep the peace.

"Well. That could've gone better." Jim mutters under his breath.

"And it could've gone worse, too." Blinky assures him. "Now, come along. Let's begin your training for the night."

Jim learns quickly why they call it the place heroes are forged. He's experienced cruel training before, but the swinging axes and the lava are a little overkill.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim tries to hold everything together.
> 
> Toby gets curious.
> 
> Strickler comes up with a plan to keep a closer eye on his wayward charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I'm not trying to portray Strickler as outright abusive. I want to highlight that he's rational and believes in corporal punishment as means of deterring Jim from breaking the rules.
> 
> I'd also like to state that this Changeling Jim is very young- typical aus paint him as a few hundred years old, but this changeling only spent a few years in the darklands before being sent to assume an identity.

**XVI**

“You’re late.”

Jim quickly takes his spot with the other goblins and gives Strickler a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I got caught up in rehearsal and lost track of time doing homework.” He hopes Strickler doesn’t pay too much attention to his wet hair and the smell of axe body spray- while changelings may not have heightened senses the same way normal trolls do, Jim has taken to masking his scent in case he ever runs into Bular at the museum, and Bular catches a whiff of something he doesn’t like.

And while Toby and Claire have both complained about the overpowering stench of the body spray, but hey. Can’t argue with results, and Jim hasn’t been died or otherwise dismembered yet, so the axe stays on.

“Be that as it may, young Atlas, you should strive to be on time. Our employers would not be as tolerant as I when it comes to tardiness. Wouldn’t want them to think your priorities are misaligned,”

The usual lecture goes in one ear and out the other as Jim shifts into his troll form. He’s glad he wore a loose shirt and sweatpants- he’s not experienced enough in shifting to change his clothes along with his clothes. Experimentally rotating his shoulders in their sockets, he checks to make sure everything’s working okay. Facilities in order, he goes to work picking up the stones. Much easier with his enhanced strength.

“I’m sorry- but in my defense, my history teacher assigned me a take-home quiz, a project, and a paper today.” Jim responds.

In truth, he’s started none of them. Jim was off at the Hero’s Forge, training- like he has almost every night for the past week since he became trollhunter. He spends the first half of the night under Blinky and Aarrrgh’s tutelage, leaving around midnight under the guise that Mom would get suspicious if he were out all night. Then he spends the last half of the night putting the bridge together with the goblins while Strickler watches.

Sometimes they fight here, too- just to keep Jim sharp.

It’s nothing like troll training. They’re brutal, yes, but you know what you’re getting into when you step into the training grounds. Jim has to be on alert all the time when he’s around Strickler in case of a surprise attack.

Tonight is one of those nights.

Jim catches the light of Strickler’s transformation out of the corner of his eye before he hears the woosh of the blade. Jim ducks and rolls out of the way as it embeds itself in the wall right where he was standing.

“Nomura won’t like that.” Jim points out.

“She’ll deal.” Strickler reaches into his plume of infinite, feather-shaped blades and pulls out a handful, holding them delicately between his fingers. Jim reaches for his pocket and pulls out his own. In a flash, like watching a string being pulled taught, there’s a flash of silver where the two blades intersect in the air.

Strickler wastes no time taking advantage of the distraction. While Jim barely manages to block the projectile, his handler spreads his wings and zips through the air.

“Wha-“

All the air promptly gets knocked out of his lungs where Strickler slams into him, knocking Jim to the ground. Strickler’s hands are wrapped around his neck- he can’t _breathe_ \- blindly, he gropes for Strickler’s arms, but Strickler’s grip on his windpipe is too firm.

So he uses his legs instead. Jim plants his feet in Strickler’s torso. His handler’s eyes widen as Jim _kicks_ with all his strength, rolling away the second he’s free. No time to celebrate that small victory- he ducks behind the bridge, banking on the fact that Strickler will be too worried about damaging the goods to hit him.

The gambit works. Jim takes a second to catch his breath while Strickler rounds the side of the bridge, toying with his knives. It almost feels like a horror movie.

“Hiding? That’s a cheap tactic. Come out and fight me.”

_Yeah, I’m not doing that._

Jim keeps low to the floor, nearly on all fours as he inches around the other side. While Strickler is busy rounding the corner slowly, savoring the hunt. Jim moves as quietly as he can, pressing his hand against the side of the bridge, feeling the grooves. They’re deep enough that he could climb up the side.

Jim hoists himself up as silently as he can. For once, he’s fighting without being encumbered by the armor, and he sneaks up the side easily, until he’s balancing on the partially-constructed arch. Keen eyes watch the ground below, waiting for the right opportunity-

There.

The minute that Strickler is right under him, Jim dives. He wraps his legs around Strickler’s torso. Quick as a dart, he reaches into his pocket again for another one of his blades, pressing it against the fleshy part of Strickler’s neck- right where the Adam’s apple would be on a human.

Both of them still.

Jim takes a heaving breath, adrenaline coursing through his body. _Did I do it? Did I finally beat Strickler for the first time?_

“Not bad, young Atlas.” Jim isn’t sure if he’s imagining the hint of pride in Strickler’s voice or not. “But you’re going to have to do better than that if you want to win.”

“Huh?” It’s only then that Jim feels the knife digging into his side. Strickler’s bent his arm at a weird angle to catch Jim in the side, despite the chokehold Jim has him in. “Aw, man!”

“You’re good, Young Atlas. A lot of raw talent. But you’re too soft. I could’ve killed you so many times during that fight, if I’d bothered to take the opportunity.”

The worst part is that he’s right- whenever Strickler instigates a fight, he’s _always_ toying with Jim. Hundreds of years of experience means that Jim never has a chance in a fight, and it sucks. Every time this happens, it’s like a fight for his life while Strickler’s just playing around, and it never changes.

Jim clambers off Strickler’s back. “I’ll get back to work.”

He collects his kitchen knives (can’t lose those and have Mom wondering where they went) and picks up another rock. Strickler, satisfied, goes back to grading papers like some sick freak, like he didn’t almost try to kill Jim with no remorse. To be fair, he probably wouldn’t care if he accidentally roughed up his charge a little too much.

His hand tightens around a piece of the Killahead bridge. Even with training, he’s still not good enough to beat Strickler. Hopefully, he won’t have to fight his handler for a long time.

No, Jim will make sure that when they meet on opposite sides of the battlefield, he _will_ be better. And he won’t hold back.

And, according to rule number two, Jim will finish the fight.

**XVII**

Jim’s asleep again.

Toby frowns as his best friend and his current lab partner nearly faceplants into their experiment. Toby has to frantically stick his arm out to keep Jim from falling into their hydrochloric acid. It’s dilute, but Jim _probably_ wouldn’t appreciate a face full of acid.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa- Jim, come on, wake up!” Toby says. Only when he smacks Jim’s cheek does his friend wake up, blinking awake and remembering where he is slowly.

“Huh? What’s going on?”

“Welcome to the land of the living.” Toby jokes, trying to play it easy- even though he can’t help but feel worried. This is the third time Jim’s dozed off in class- first three days ago in history, then he somehow fell asleep standing up and _nearly took a ball in the face_ , and now he’s gone and almost burnt himself.

Jim rubs his eyes. “Oh. Toby. Sorry. I must’ve…” He yawns, grabbing at his notebook. “Spaced out. Where are we?”

“Well, _I_ titrated the solution already, so you don’t need to do anything else.” Toby says proudly- the pink Erlenmeyer flask rests innocuously on the desk from where Toby did the assignment while Jim was catching some Z’s.

“Really? Thanks, Tobes!” Jim says brightly. He gives Toby a wobbly thumbs up.

“Um, are you okay?” He asks hesitantly. When Jim gives him a confused look, Toby elaborates. “It’s just that you’ve been… tired lately. If there’s something bothering you, you can talk to me about it!”

Jim just yawns. Toby notes the circles in his eyes are more pronounced than usual as Jim rubs at them. “I’m fine,” He insists, “Just not sleeping super well, is all. Hey, what are you working on there?”

He laughs it off as if that’s the end of the conversation, pointing at the spare beaker Toby’s set up on the counter. Toby purses his lips- Jim would only rapidly change the subject like that if he had something to _hide_. He’s not good at lying, so he deflects. Toby’s seen him do it to Dr. L before when he broke a vase and covered it up by showing her his good report card. He’s seen Jim do it to Senior Uhl when he forgot to do a Spanish project and distracted him by pretending to have a stomachache.

Toby’s been there, and he knows Jim’s tells.

Although it stings a little that Jim’s lying to _him_ of all people.

Actually, it stings a lot.

“Oh, this?” Toby says, considerably less enthusiastic. “It’s just some cleaning solution. Little side project I’m working on.”

Ever since he pulled out that little piece of mineral from the pile of rocks, he’s been waiting for chemistry class to roll around so he could clean it off and get a better look. When he brought it to geology club, the other members couldn’t figure out what the hell kind of rock this was. He explains as much to Jim, who looks vaguely sick for some reason during the explanation.

“Are you sure it isn’t just a regular rock?”

“Nah. It’s weird- watch this.” Toby beckons for Jim to move closer as he scratches his finger across the surface of the stone. It crumbles away easily, coating his hands in a little bit of dust. “See? It looks like it’s made of super strong material, but it comes apart really easily. I can’t tell _what_ it is. Do you think it came from the same place that amulet came from?”

“ _No_.” Jim says a little too firmly, pressing his hands down on the table. Toby flinches at the sudden force, taking a step backwards. There’s an unidentifiable look in his eyes that Toby can’t even begin to decipher. Something dark.

Then, the moment passes, and Jim realizes what he just did. Gently, he pries his hands off the counter, rubbing them together awkwardly. “I just mean- I think it’s a normal pile of rocks. Also, could we not talk about the amulet at school?”

“Why not?”

“Just- don’t.”

Frustrated, Toby clenches his hand in a fist around the rock in his hand. _Jim, why won’t you just **tell** me?_

_You’ve never done this before._

_You’ve never-_

“Fine.” Toby grits out, and that’s the end of that conversation.

No luck figuring out what kind of rock it is, either- cleaning it only reveals a slightly lighter colored mineral, and Toby has no fucking clue what its composition is. He’s fairly certain at this point that either he’s discovered a new rock or this isn’t of this world. Either way, all the credit for the discovery is gonna go to him, and Toby will be heralded as a scientific genius of their generation.

And of course he’ll credit Jim for assisting with the find- that is, if he decides to stop being an ass and talk to Toby again.

_Maybe I’ll call it Domzalskanite… or the ultra rock… the sequel to rock- rock two?_

He curses himself for not grabbing more of it.

**XVIII**

The rock slips his mind again until Toby’s sitting in on rehearsals.

(It’s just _easy_ to wait, so Jim doesn’t have to bike home alone in the dark. Plus, if Toby sticks around, Jim will usually invite Toby in for dinner, and Toby gets a free, homecooked meal out of it.)

He’s suffering through a few Spanish assignments while Jim flounders through a few lines- he’s still no Shakespearian genius, but he’s gotten way better since auditions. Claire’s definitely impressed, based on the way she’s smiling. Or she could be laughing at his expense. Jury’s still out on that one.

Meanwhile, Eli Pepperjack has taken to loitering around in the audience a row in front of Toby, not especially upset that his part got stolen from right under his nose. In fact, he seems too distracted by something on his phone to practice his lines. Toby only notices because he’s also procrastinating his homework by scrolling twitter on his phone.

_What’s he looking at?_

_Nah, I should finish this._

But conjugating verbs is so boring. Toby barely gives it a split second of thought before peeking over Eli’s shoulder, trying to get a better look at the guy’s screen. He’s watching a video so intently that his nose is inches away from the screen- that makes it harder for Toby to get a good enough look. But curiosity wins over in the end, and he scoots over a seat so he has a better angle. It’s some kind of shaky phone camera video. Eli keeps pausing it and replaying it on a loop, tongue jutting out from his mouth as he analyzes it. _Man, he’s completely oblivious to his surroundings._

“What are you doing?” Toby asks once he’s had enough of watching Eli loop the same video at least five times.

Eli screams.

The phone clatters to the floor, slipping out of Eli’s grip as he nearly falls out of his chair. Toby winces, feeling bad for just a moment that he scared the guy _that_ badly. “Aw, man.” Eli laments as he stares sadly at the phone, scooping down to pick it up. There’s a hairline crack where it hit the wooden floor.

_… Okay, maybe I could’ve been a little more tactful about that._

“Sorry, bud.” Toby pats Eli’s shoulder.

“It’s fine.” Eli sighs. Then, he remembers that someone’s actually showing interest in what he’s doing for once, and he pulls Toby closer. “Don’t tell anyone, but you remember how I said I saw monsters under the bridge last week?”

Toby remembers. There was that whole incident where Eli got shoved in a locker by Steve Palchuck, a walking stereotype right out of a 90’s movie. Toby and Jim saw it happening in the courtyard, but toby kept his head down, like he normally does- these arms aren’t stopping anyone until he manages to start going to the gym like he promised he would in his new year’s resolution.

The weirdest part was how Jim would normally step in to help, but he was too distracted to notice.

(Come to think of it, that was the morning that they took the shortcut through the canal and Jim found that trinket that gave him hallucinations. What ever happened to that thing, anyways?)

“Yeah?” Toby says. Everyone laughed and called Eli crazy for it, like they usually do.

Eli grins, lowering his voice to a whisper as he risks a glance at Mrs. Janeth a few seats up. “I couldn’t prove it because my phone got destroyed that night, but I got a _video_.”

“What? Really? That’s awesome!” Toby shouts.

“No talking in the back!” Mrs. Janeth barks.

“That’s awesome.” Toby says, quieter this time. “Can I see?”

Eli’s all too eager to share. For the first time, someone believes in him enough to see his proof. He hands Toby his new, already cracked phone and lets Toby watch, shaking in anticipation.

The video itself looks like it was taken by a shaky hand riding a bike. He’s watching the rafters under the bridge as two figures slam into each other. At first glance, they look like bears. But no bear has ever held a giant sword before. Toby can’t see much- just the flash of metal and a glimpse of a clawed arm. The worst part is the rumble of the rafters and the sounds of guttural, inhuman, growling.

That doesn’t _sound_ like an animal, either.

The video finally ends when Eli tries to inch closer, getting a better look- yellow, catlike eyes cut through the darkness like a knife, staring right at the camera. A fanged mouth splits open in a roar. Eli, too terrified to even scream, drops the phone as he runs away. The screen cuts to black.

“This is…”

“It’s _not_ photoshopped and I’m _not_ crazy.” Eli says with the fervor of someone who’s absolutely insane. And it doesn’t look like it’s enough proof that the supernatural exists- it could easily be passed off as a couple coyotes fighting.

But Toby can’t ignore what he saw in the canals that day, either.

He pulls the rock out from his pocket. “I found this there after you saw that.” He didn’t see any of those beasts, but that weird pile and the maybe magical artifact that Jim found…

“You found a piece of one of them?”

“I- what do you mean a _piece_?” Toby asks. Eli holds his hand out expectantly- Toby hesitates, not quite ready to part with his find yet, but the look on Eli’s face is honestly scary. He drops it in Eli’s palm, who stares at it like it’s a chunk of gold.

“These monsters are all over Arcadia. I’ve seen them before.” Eli mutters. “They’re all at least eight feet tall with stone for skin and teeth made for eating flesh. But no one ever believes me.”

“They eat _people_?” Toby’s lunch threatens to revolt at that idea. This is beginning to feel less like a magical adventure and more like a horrifying conspiracy. “I found that in a pile of rock chunks. What does that mean?”

Eli delicately pushes his glasses further up his nose. “It means that whatever those monsters were doing under the bridge, you found one of them, dead. And the other is still free, somewhere in Arcadia.”

**XIX**

The silence is tense as Jim and Toby walk their bikes home. 

Ever since chemistry earlier today, Toby’s been weirdly closed off and silent. Jim _knows_ that it’s because he snapped at Toby earlier. He just… got worried when Toby started poking into things that he shouldn’t be. Not when openly talking about it at school is so dangerous. Not when Strickler is looking for any sign of the Trollhunter.

But he doesn’t know how to explain that to Toby.

Not that his explanation would be any excuse.

Jim doesn’t say anything, mentally formulating an apology that doesn’t sound half-assed. Based on the way he’s pointedly not looking at Jim, electing to watch the woods instead, Toby’s still angry. Great. _One of the only human friends I have and I might have ruined it._

Mom’s car is still parked in the driveway when they reach Jim’s house, effectively ending their incredibly awkward walk. Jim stands in front of his door, wringing his hands out. “Do you want to come in for dinner?” He tries hopefully. “I’m making paninis. Mom’s here if you want to invite Nana over, too.”

That olive branch never fails to work. Even the few times that Toby’s been mad at Jim, he’ll never say no to free food. But Toby just shakes his head. “Nah. I’m tired- I think I should just heat up a microwave meal and go to bed.”

“Oh. Okay.” He frowns, nevertheless letting Toby go. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do- I can bring over soup later if you want…?”

“I’m okay- thanks though.” Finally, Toby cracks a weak grin. “See you tomorrow, Jimbo.”

“Later, Tobes.”

Despite the casual tone of the conversation, and the familiar nicknames, there’s a rift between them that Jim knows can’t be repaired while he’s keeping so much from his friend. It’s not Toby’s fault, but if Jim wants to keep everyone safe, they can’t _know_. No one can.

_I’m doing the right thing_ , he tells himself. _I just have to get better at playing normal._

“I’m home!” He announces, pushing the door open gently. The relaxing aroma of tea hits his nose first- Mom must be in the kitchen, which is never a good sign. At least she can’t go wrong with boiling water, because the fire department isn’t banging down their door.

“In here, Jim!” She responds cheerfully. “Just making drinks for our guest!”

_Guest?_

Jim tenses, reaching for a weapon- curses when he realizes he’s unarmed- and decides to pull out his textbook instead. It’s heavy enough that it can be used as a blunt weapon against a normal human in a pinch. If it’s someone _else_ …

He rounds the corner as their unexpected guest stands up. “Good evening, young Atlas.”

_Strickler_.

He smiles, reaching out to shake Jim’s hand. Jim stares at Mom. She has a kettle in her hand. Two cups of tea sit on the counter. He blinks at the extended hand dumbly, mind racing at a million miles a minute. Hesitantly, he accepts Strickler’s handshake, only because Mom is smiling hesitantly at him, and he’s going to act as normal as possible until he figures out what Strickler’s here for.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks hesitantly as Strickler sits back down. He primly takes a sip of the tea Mom set out for him. “I’ve turned in all my assignments…”

“I’m just here to congratulate you on your new responsibility!”

_And Jim’s._

_Heart._

_Stops._

“You didn’t tell me that you tried out for the school play!” Mom says.

Oh. Jim exhales forcefully, giving Mom a weak smile. “I guess I just haven’t had the chance to. I’m playing Romeo… Claire asked me, and I couldn’t say no- I ended up being the only guy to audition for the male lead, so…”

Mom leans over the counter and ruffles his hair affectionately. “I guess we haven’t sat down and talked in a while. It’s almost like you have this whole second life you haven’t told me about.”

_Trust me, you have no idea._

“Well, I’ve got to go get changed for work.” Mom says abruptly. She doesn’t notice Jim’s inner turmoil at all, and he’ll take that as a sign that his poker face is getting better. “It was nice meeting you, Walter. And it was nice to hear that Jim’s been doing so well in school. Sometimes I worry.”

Walter?

Jim waits until he’s certain her door is closed upstairs to drop the mask. “What are you doing here?” He whispers while Strickler calmly drinks his brew, unruffled by Jim’s disarray.

“It’s come to my attention that you’ve been… distracted as of late. I thought that playing the part of a concerned teacher would give me the opportunity to make sure your priorities aren’t out of line. We’re in a critical time, after all.”

So Strickler doesn’t know about the trollhunter amulet. But he knows _something’s_ up. Jim can work with that. If he comes clean to a lesser crime, then Strickler will assume that’s what he’s hiding. Sure, Jim will have to take the punishment, but he can handle it.

Jim shuffles his feet against the carpet guiltily. At least he doesn’t have to put on _that_ much of an act. “I’m sorry, Strickler.” He says. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me. I hoped it would just go away, so I could focus on the job, but-“

“-But?” Strickler asks, prompting Jim to continue.

“-I developed feelings for a human.” He blurts.

“… Is that so?” Strickler asks curiously. Jim holds his breath- his teacher doesn’t look like he bought the admission at all. But then he drops his hand at his side, giving Jim a disappointed look. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the play, would it?”

“It does. I didn’t want- I thought the feelings would fade naturally, I didn’t want it to be more than an act… So I thought if I spent time with her, I’d be able to get rid of them- I _want_ to focus on the mission, just like you said, I should’ve grown out of this phase by now-“ He’s fully aware he’s babbling at this point, real feelings blurring into his fake confession. Jim isn’t even sure he’s covering up for his bigger lies as much as he is pleading for forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“I see.” Strickler nods. “Stand up, Jim.”

Oh. He must’ve fallen to his knees at some point.

Embarrassed, Jim pulls himself off the ground and dusts off his pants. His face feels distinctly warm as he meets his handler’s eyes.

And then he’s smacked in the face.

Jim can’t react quick enough to dodge it- he sees the blur of Strickler’s hand, but his body can’t move fast enough. The impact stings, but Jim knows it would’ve been worse if he hadn’t managed to tilt his head to the side at the last second. The point of Strickler’s pen, clasped between his fingers, barely grazes his cheek.

It’s a small mercy, really. Jim knows it’s nothing more than a warning.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sting.

To his credit, Jim keeps his face straight as he rubs at his cheek. Strickler’s face shows neither disappointment nor aggravation. As always, he’s clinical and calculated. He caps his pen and places it delicately back in his pocket. “I think that was warning enough, yes?”

“I know.” Jim bows his head.

“Then you know what you must do for the good of our goals?”

“I have to purge my feelings for Claire.” He responds dully.

“Good.” Strickler nods approvingly. “You’re a sharp boy, Jim. I’d hate to see what would happen to you if your transgressions were discovered by someone less merciful than me. You know that, right?”

That’s what his handler has told him ever since Jim came fresh from the Darklands. He was only a year old at the time, freshly implemented in the home of his host family. _You’re a sharp boy_ , he would mutter as he threw knife after knife at Jim, who wasn’t yet old enough to dodge all of them. _You have potential. I would hate for you to become soft like the others._

Jim supposes it’s his form of mercy.

“I’ll do better.” He promises.

“I’ll see to it that you do.”

Jim’s head snaps upward so quickly that he wonders if his neck cracks from the force. “ _What_?”

“I’ve decided that your training needs a more hands-on approach.” Is that Jim’s imagination or is that a cruel grin on Strickler’s face? No- it’s only the figment of Jim’s growing dread as he realizes what Strickler’s talking about.

_No._

_Not her_.

“You can’t _do_ that to her!” Jim cries. “She already has to deal with one impostor in her life. We can find another cover story- like I’m interning under you, or there’s a special program-“

“I thought you’d be happy, young Atlas.” Strickler says. Jim’s eyes glow in response to the dig, anger coursing through his veins. The changeling ripples under human skin. “If I were to date your mother, then I’d have a more plausible excuse to keep her safe under the eternal night. I have more pull with the Janus order, and as much as Gunmar hates to admit it, he relies on me. Surely, I’d be allowed to keep one woman alive. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

-And Jim _hates_.

_How dare Strickler twist his desires? How **dare** he use Mom like that?_

“Of course it is.” Jim says through his clenched teeth, that are beginning to feel a little too large and sharp in his mouth. In his anger, he’s nearly shifted into his other form right in the middle of his living room.

The changeling forces himself to calm down. As much as he hates Strickler right now, he can’t do anything that would hurt Mom.

“Good.” Mr. Strickler says. “Then you won’t mind that I’ve already asked her out on a date.”

Jim tries _very hard_ not to lash out again.

“It’s not like I can stop you.” He concedes. As he is now, Jim doesn’t have the power to stop someone hundreds of years older than him. Strickler is from the generation of changelings who survived _war_ , and Jim lacks any practical experience. So all he can do is wait, and strike when the time is right.

_I’m going to get better. I’m going to stop the eternal night. I’m going to stop **Strickler**._

“Smart boy.” Strickler says once. He drains the rest of his now-cold coffee cup, placing the porcelain on the counter. With an air of finality, he stands, patting his old knees. “If your mother asks, I’ve gotten called down to the museum for some last minute business- I’m terribly sorry I couldn’t say farewell to her in person.”

Jim waits ten seconds after Strickler’s car leaves the driveway.

He breathes in through his nose. Out through his mouth. The primal rage in his body gives away to fatigue, and he only feels numb.

Mom needs dinner.

On autopilot, Jim cleans up his wound. The little cut on his cheek can be passed off as a slip of the hand when dealing with a kitchen knife, thankfully. He makes himself a cup of coffee, barely even registering his surroundings as he moves. All he knows is that Mom needs dinner, and Jim always makes Mom dinner before she leaves.

Mom comes down dressed in her scrubs as Jim’s putting the finishing touches on her panini. She kisses his forehead and ruffles his hair. She catches the bandage on his cheek almost instantly, running her thumb over it. “What happened here?”

“I almost fell asleep and slipped.” Jim lies, laughing dryly, as if to say, _look how clumsy I am_.

Mom purses her lips and pulls the blade from Jim’s hand. Jim tries to protest, but Mom gives him that stern look she does when he overworks himself and they both know it. “Go take some NyQuil and get some sleep, young man, before you hurt yourself any further and give me a heart attack. Now where did Walter go?”

“He had to leave for work.” Jim shrugs. He doesn’t like the almost dreamy look on her face as she smiles.

“You didn’t tell me your teacher was such a silver fox.”

“Ew, Mom- gross!”


End file.
